hendem

A leisurely and beautifully filmed movie which concerns an old man (Dreyfus) living in a remote backwater of the Amazon River. Late in life he has learned to read, and he has taken to reading love stories, savouring each word as if it were a morsel of a feast.

The narrative concerns the hunt for a jaguar which has apparently acquired a taste for human flesh. During this adventure we share the old man's reflections, reveries and regrets, fragments of a past life. In the unfolding of the story he is able to make reparation for at least one of his regrets.

The film could be criticised for being slow and uneven at times. I have not read the novel, but I'm sure that it was multi-layered and textured, with underlying themes of missed opportunities, loss of innocence, the environment and the egregious impact of civilisation. The movie only hints at these things and sometimes were are left a little puzzled. But the eloquence is in the mood, which is perfectly captured.

Highly recommended.

Like others who have commented, I saw this movie on the strength of critical acclaim. I was expecting something very special, a film approaching cinematic perfection. What I found was both underwhelming and over-rated.

Despite coming in at bloated 2 hours 20 minutes, the plot exposition was frequently poor. Sometimes things happened for no clear reason.

People have already commented on the artifices and devices that brought the two main characters together. But how did they manage to plan and execute such a complicated heist, which clearly required a deep knowledge concerning the security devices in the jewellery salon? Was all the necessary information conveyed to Corey at the beginning of the film, by the bent prison guard? That hardly seems likely.

There was virtually no character development and it was difficult to engender any sense of empathy with the protagonists.

People behaved oddly at times. Whey did Vogel take off his clothes to cross the stream? And afterwards even put his tie back on? How did the Montand character, in the grip of delerium tremens when first encountered, manage to instantly turn his life around?

At times I found myself chuckling. At the duck-like waddle of the French traffic cop. At the exaggerated swagger of the gangsters. I doubt Melville intended these as humourous high-points.

People have praised the cinematography. Yes, some of the camera aspects and points of view were interesting. But perhaps I was unlucky. The print that I viewed was muddy and dank.

The mood and style of the movie was curious. It was more in the idiom of the fifties than the seventies. The overwhelming impression was that I was watching a bit of curiosity, a relic that simply did not stand up by modern standards.

The pace was ponderous, the accents were frequently indecipherable, the cinematography was dank and grainy, and the editing was haphazard. My guess is that most of this movie ended up on the cutting room floor.

It might have made more sense on a second viewing, but Malkovich needs to know that most movie goers will only see a movie once.